


"Downwards Fall in Dead of Night"

by iWantMyDrumfredBack (BornBlue)



Series: Drummond Is Not Dead [13]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Brace yourself for some serious angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Our boys just need to regain their equilibrium and grapple with the reality of their situation, because Drummond is alive and well and gorgeous as always, but remember I'm committed to a happy ending so bear with them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornBlue/pseuds/iWantMyDrumfredBack
Summary: Edward is overwhelmed by emotions he hadn't anticipated, leaving Alfred worried and both of them confused.





	"Downwards Fall in Dead of Night"

Somehow, Drummond managed to get through the day, but it took a monumental effort. After Sir Robert had gone and he was finally free for the evening, he couldn’t even bring himself to go get dinner. He just wanted to be home where he could think—and have the freedom to fall apart without prying eyes to wonder and judge. His head, his feelings, everything was a jumble. He needed to be home, alone, to sort through all these contradictory emotions. He walked the streets in a bit of a daze, and felt a palpable sense of relief when he closed the door behind him.

 

He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him. He’d started the day so happy and, though work was a challenge with his scattered concentration, he was sure he would have been alright, if only….

 

It was that visit to the palace.

 

 _Damn it_ , he thought, as he tore off his coat and collapsed onto his bed. He’d always looked forward to those visits before, but suddenly it was so _hard_.

 

How could that be so, when he now knew he had Alfred’s love and devotion? He couldn’t understand it. Why had Alfred’s nearness been so painful? And why had Miss Coke’s insipid ramblings gotten under his skin so badly?

 

When his near-miss with the assassin’s bullet had prompted him to reassess his life, he finally knew how important love was to him. It had never seemed so before, but his feelings for Alfred, taken with the clarifying effects of his brush with death, had converted him completely. Alfred was the only one for whom he’d ever felt that kind of love, ergo—obviously—his life must be with Alfred.

And yes, he’d known they could never marry.

 

And of course he'd been aware they could never express any manner of affection in public.

 

And it had been obvious he could never actually tell anyone about the love they shared.

 

He'd known all that… but that was different from truly _understanding_ it.

 

He hadn’t understood how often

he would have to adjust his face to mask spontaneous feelings of delight or adoration.

 

He hadn’t understood how hard

it would be to make his body resist the urge to pull Alfred into his arms.

 

He hadn’t understood how lonely

it would feel not to be able to tell his dear parents about the man he loved.

 

He hadn’t understood how long

he and Alfred would have to bide their time with no opportunities to speak and touch freely.

 

And he _certainly_ hadn’t understood the power 

of the fleshly pleasures he and Alfred would share.

 

He hadn’t understood how he would feel in body as well as soul

and how that would make his need even stronger.

 

He hadn’t understood how that intense desire, in turn,

would make all those other burdens that much more insufferable.

 

His heart ached. Literally. It ached. As he lay there remembering the night before, it all seemed like an impossible dream. He only wanted Alfred, but how in the world could he survive this kind of life?

 

All of a sudden he remembered a nightmare he used to have as a boy; it had been years since he had thought of it. It always had the same start: a coach carrying his sister away. In his heart, he knew it was never coming back, and he would run after it with all the might in his little legs, determined to bring her home. He would pant and heave and his muscles would sting, but it would seem he was getting closer until he could see her profile through the window. He would call her name, and she would turn and see him, look him in the eyes and smile. She would reach out her hand toward his, just feet away, and then inches as he ran even harder, until he could feel the warmth of her fingers… but before they could touch, the horses would speed up and she’d be far away again. And then it would usually start over, with his running after her, almost catching up, but never quite managing to touch her. Eventually, he would wake in a cold sweat, nightshirt stuck to him, heart pounding… and then the remembering. Every time he woke from the nightmare, where she had been so close and he had been so happy to almost reach her, he would have to remember all over again that she was gone. That she was in the ground in the family plot and he would never touch her fingers again, or hear her delighted laughter when he told one of his stupid jokes, or see her eyes shine with wonder as they pointed out constellations to each other in the night sky. The remembering was the worst part: a fresh grief every single time.

 

It had taken years for the nightmares to end. Years in which he told no one, for fear they would think he was crazy or perhaps simply weak. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be able to stuff it down and continue, but it had been _so hard_.

 

And now here he was, running after another carriage. He had a choice about this one, though, didn’t he? He had a choice whether or not to run after it this time. He just had to decide if he could bear the pain of trying and never quite reaching it….

 

 

__________

 

Alfred stood on the palace balcony, wishing for Edward to walk through the door. There wasn’t much chance of it—the hour was late, and he had almost certainly gone home to his apartments. The sky was dark and cloudy, and he was just musing how it seemed to feel the same way he did, when a streak of light broke through the clouds and seemed to crash its way downward. A sudden flash. A falling star.

 

Alfred remembered the poem Edward had recited. It had filled his heart then, but now he felt uncertain. Where was Edward, and what had happened this afternoon? He feared he was losing him. It was just the kind of thing he’d been scared of, the reason he had never wanted to love in the first place. But now he did want it—he wanted Edward. He _needed_ him. And what would happen to him if Edward just disappeared… vanished from his life… or tried to take back his heart…. How could Alfred ever get over it? Love was indeed intoxicating and magnificent, but he feared losing it would prove to be a festering, unbearable wound.

 

He was so tired. He needed to sleep.In the morning, perhaps he would know what to do.

 

 

__________

 

Edward lay in bed for a long time, almost fully clothed. He was utterly exhausted and knew he needed to sleep, but he was afraid of the nightmare—afraid that it would come back, now that he had remembered it. Afraid that this time Alfred would be in the carriage, perhaps even sitting alongside his dead sister.

 

He sat up and shook his head. He was being ridiculous. He just needed to stop this and pull himself together. As he began to undress, he recalled Alfred calmly removing his cravat, unbuttoning his vest and his pants. It had been so sensual, but so tender, too. Alfred had moved with such warmth and gentleness… by God, Edward really did love him.

 

But he couldn’t decide if that was enough.

 

Breaking the engagement had certainly been the right thing to do. He was grateful Florence was no longer a player in this little drama—but he still couldn’t be sure whether the ending would make it a tragedy or a comedy. If he chased this carriage, the effort might very well kill him. Was it best for both he and Alfred to let it go? Surely, he could resign himself to a single, celibate life. He’d never missed love before, so maybe he could go back to the way he was. Maybe he could find a new position, something far from Alfred so they could both lick their wounds and forget each other. He didn’t want to hurt him, but maybe it would be best for him in the long run, in the same way that breaking his engagement to Florence was also best for her.

 

He could barely remember removing his clothes as he absentmindedly pulled on his nightshirt and crawled into bed. His mind was working through logistics, thinking about how Sir Robert might have to step down and he might have to find a new position anyway and if he did maybe he could leave London… he’d like to stay in politics but he could join the family bank and turn his life inward to live in the country on a quiet estate and spend time fishing and hiking and horseback riding….

 

...Alfred on his horse, in his glorious red livery… so beautiful….

 

 _Argggh, why is he everywhere?_ In his exasperation, he turned onto his side to look out the window and stuffed his hand beneath his pillow to scrunch it under his head.

 

And he felt something.

 

It was his shirt from last night. His heart seemed to stop beating as he gently pulled it out from beneath the pillow. It was impossible to resist holding it to his face, inhaling for the traces of Alfred. The scent filled his head. He closed his eyes, remembering, replaying every moment of the night before. Tears began washing sideways across the bridge of his nose and his temple, into his hair, settling at his ear before dropping to the pillow. Over and over again, he took deep breaths between trembling sobs as he held the shirt close. What in God’s name was he going to do?

 

He lay there crying, holding onto the shirt and his memories, eyes closed and wet with agony. It must have been a long time before the tears began to subside and his shaky breathing began to calm. When he opened his eyes, he could see through the blurry remains of teardrops the night sky out his window. No stars—just clouds and overwhelming darkness. And then out of nowhere—a star falling, leaving a trail of glorious light in its wake.  

> _Ask me no more where those stars ‘light,_
> 
> _That downwards fall in dead of night;_
> 
> _For in your eyes they sit, and there_
> 
> _Fixed become, as in their sphere._

 

He buried his nose in the shirt once more, inhaling as deeply as he could 

and picturing Alfred’s eyes

that held everything he loved....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cliffhanger, I know. Sorry about that. Blame the boys--they set the agenda and the pace.


End file.
